


A Close Shave

by edenforest



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, some weird bathroom fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 10:23:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14809538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenforest/pseuds/edenforest
Summary: Illya can do everything better that everybody else, at least that is what he claims. Now he needs to prove it. In the bathroom.





	A Close Shave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Turningleaf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turningleaf/gifts).



> Happy Birthday!!!! You are looking at a rare piece of wip that I started 2016(!!!!) and only finished for you now.
> 
> Beta thanks to MollokoPlus!

Illya wasn’t sure any more how the argument had started. He just wanted to read the newspaper in peace. And yet somehow Gaby scowled at him from the other side of the coffee table, in that big clumsy rococo style chair they had in the hotel. Her feet and heels were on the table, her arms crossed, and the dress Illya hadn’t chosen for her was hiked up her thighs. The salmon shade looked garish against the red velvet of the chair.

Gaby hadn’t started the argument but she sure was keeping it going. “Do you notice you do that?” she asked. “You act like you always know better, even when you know you don’t.”

Illya didn't say anything. He wanted to argue that usually he  _ did _ know better, but that wouldn’t help the argument to go away any sooner.

“It would be nice,” she said tightly, and not actually meaning anything nice, “if you would accept that sometimes someone does something better than you. You are not better at everything than us.”

The newspaper rustled and crimped when Illya let his arms flop down. “Like what?” he asked.

“I’m a better driver,” Gaby huffed. “Solo is better with locks and -”

“Not including specific skills we have,” Illya interrupted and pushed the paper away. “Tell me one everyday thing that you think you are better at than me,” he challenged. 

Gaby huffed air from her mouth and flicked her hand. “Well, anything including make-up or doing my hair. You would be rubbish in that.”

“Doubtful,” Illya muttered. “It is just mixing colours.”

Gaby’s face tensed up and she leaned forward on her chair. “You would do my eye make-up better than I do?”

“Yes,” Illya claimed, not really sure was he any more telling the truth.

“And fix my hair?”

“Yes.”

“Paint my toenails?”

Illya didn’t even bother answering that one; he merely rolled his eyes.

Gaby’s eyes narrowed. “Shaving my legs?”

Illya sighed. “I shave. More often than you.”

“Bigger surface,” Gaby pointed out and stood up, heels hitting the floor. “I don’t think you could manage as fast as I can.” She went to pour herself a drink. All the arguing was making her thirsty.

Illya knew he should let go, but now he was irritated and stood up instead. “I could do it faster and better than you.”

“Fine,” Gaby snapped and hit her glass hard on the side table, drink sloshing over the rim. “Prove it.”

Illya frowned, huffed nonplussed. “What?”

Gaby twisted her left foot up, took balance from the table and started opening the strap of her shoe. “Prove it,” she repeated. “Let’s see how good you are.” Her shoe clanked on the floor.

“This is stupid,” Illya said.

“Oh, I see,” Gaby sighed, smiling in a way that wasn’t sweet at all, “you are scared.” She knew very well how to push his buttons.

Illya’s jaw tensed, he glared at Gaby who dropped her other shoe on the floor and marched to him, hand moving up to shove him into moving towards the bathroom

“You can say it but can you do it?” She kept pushing annoyed Illya closer and closer to the already open door until he stepped over the threshold to the white tile floor. Gaby returned to the living room, took a firm hold of the heavy chair she had been sitting on and started to drag it into the bathroom. It screeched against the floor, made the hair of her neck stand up but wasn’t enough to make her stop. Illya crimped his face at the noise. Gaby could’ve asked Illya to help, but she chose not to, continuing to drag the clumsy piece of furniture by herself, until she managed to yank it through the bathroom doorway. She pushed it closer to the bathtub and took a few quick breaths before returning again to grab her drink. She slumped down to the chair and flicked her hand vaguely. “Get on to it,” she said, almost bored, like she didn't want to bother but Illya was making her.

Illya continued standing on his spot, looking surly.

Gaby lifted her right foot on the edge of the tub and cleared her throat impatiently.

Illya rolled his eyes. Stiffly he reached down, grabbing her ankle and lifting her leg higher. His thumb smoothed her skin. “There isn’t that much to shave,” he noted.

“Well, I only just did it,” Gaby said. “I didn’t know I could get somebody else to do it for me. If I would’ve known I wouldn't have bothered. Go on.”

“They are practically smooth,” Illya insisted.

“They could be smoother,” Gaby breathed out lazily and sipped her drink.

Illya’s eyes narrowed and he let Gaby’s ankle go. “You don’t have a razor here.”

“Use yours,” she said and shrugged.

“It’s for my face.”

“If it’s good enough for your face, it’s good enough for my legs,” Gaby announced, starting to feel annoyed again.

“That is not what I mean,” Illya muttered. For a moment he still stood there, glaring at Gaby while she glared back. Finally he turned and took his razor out. If she wanted to do this, he could do this. She wouldn’t win this one. He turned the faucet on and let the water run over his fingers before reaching for the soap bowl and his brush, starting to lather the soap. He gazed at Gaby who was looking at what he was doing. She didn't comment anything, but Illya was sure she wanted to make a note about him using brush and straight razor.

He kicked the small stool from the corner next to Gaby’s massive rococo chair, that cramped the space. She slouched on it like a tiny, bored queen on her throne. For a moment Illya felt like her fool. Gaby gazed up to him, cocked her brow. Illya’s lips pressed into a tight line and he sat down. It took some effort to settle down comfortable, his legs were long and the stool was low. Finally he started brushing the foam on her leg she was still resting on the edge of the tub.

Gaby let the alcohol slowly swirl in her mouth. She was maybe slouching and her movements were lazy and bored but her eyes were sharply following Illya’s doings. His movements seemed more sure than Gaby had anticipated, but then he was only applying foam onto a part of her shin. It felt nice and the brush tickled on the thin skin of her ankle. Only when he grabbed the blade he looked momentarily unsure, glancing quickly at her. He took a hold of her foot, thumb pressing against the bottom of it. Slowly he let the blade smooth over her skin and reached to grab a towel to wipe the razor.

“There,” Illya slowly huffed. “You have seen I can do it. Can we stop this now?”

“Back to work, Kuryakin,” Gaby exhaled before lifting the glass to her lips. “I thought your point was to show how you manage this faster and better than I.”

Illya frowned, but his hand returned to her foot and he set the razor on her skin. His strokes were precise, and Gaby didn’t worry about him cutting her.

“This is waste of time,” Illya muttered as he wiped the blade clean. He looked at Gaby under his brows. “And soap. Waste of time and soap.”

Gaby felt like smiling, but tried to cover it. “I’ll buy you a new soap.”

Illya let out a displeased hum. His hand grabbed her feet better and let the razor slide up her shin. He hated that it wasn’t that bad. He was supposed to prove a point, not actually like what he was doing. But it was nice to touch her. He realized how intimate the way of touching was. He doubted no one but Gaby herself had been shaving her legs before. It was a window into her private life where she probably washed her underwear in the bathroom sink, painted her toenails sitting on the floor, and after a shower walked around her messy flat wearing only underpants and a towel wrapped on her head. 

Only Gaby’s ankle bone caused him to stop when he wasn't sure how to set the razor on it. “How do you manage the bone?” he asked and gave it a quick tap.

Gaby craned her neck to see. “What do you mean?”

“There is no way I can shave without cutting you,” Illya claimed, “There is no room for the razor.”

“You won’t cut me,” Gaby assured. “I’ll just bend it to the right direction.”

“Well, do it now,” Illya ordered.

“Which direction?” Geby asked.

“The right one,” Illya huffed, starting to feel frustrated. “Didn’t you say you would do that?”

“I don’t know which part you are going to shave. Which is the right direction?” Gaby huffed and opened her eyes wide open.

“Leave it,” Illya sighed and bent Gaby’s ankle himself.

“Hey,” Gaby grunted and pushed herself to sit on the edge of her throne, leaning closer to Illya and her ankle. “You are supposed to shave my leg, not to detach my foot.”

“Don’t fight against it,” Illya said firmly. “Keep your ankle relaxed.”

“It is,” Gaby insisted agitated. “It just won’t bend any further without breaking off.”

“What are you doing?” Napoleon asked and startled both of them. He stood in the doorway, top buttons of his shirt open, glass in his hand, looking at them, clearly nonplussed.

Illya’s fist clenched and he looked away, but Gaby only rolled her eyes. “What does it look like?” she sneered. “I thought it was obvious. Illya is shaving my legs.”

Napoleon gaze shifted between his teammates. “Yes, I can see. I guess I was wondering why _ he _ is doing that.”

“I couldn't bother myself,” Gaby claimed. “Illya very kindly offered his help.”

Illya shook his head almost unnoticeably before sighing. “Yes. I did.” It was easier to claim that was the reason than to explain how this had all started. Cowboy would no doubt have something to say about their previous argument and Illya didn’t care to hear that now.

Napoleon looked at them, contemplating what he had done to deserve this. He was sure it was because he had stolen from the offerings at church when he had been eleven. “You must understand that this is weird, even from you two,” he noted before backing away and leaving them.

Illya’s face quickly turned to Gaby. “Are we done?”

Gaby squinted at him, leaning closer still. “We are done when I’m happy with the results.”

It was easier to continue than to start arguing so Illya lathered more soap. He took Gaby’s ankle, lifted it, making Gaby collapse back to her chair when her center of gravity suddenly shifted. The rest of her drink spilled on the armrest and Illya though it served her right. He finished her leg, wiped the foam scrapings with the towel and sighed. “Ready?”

Gaby pressed her lips tightly together. She set her foot on the tiles but then lifted the other one on the edge of the tub, shaking her head slightly. “You have already used too much time,” she pointed out. “You can only try to do a better job at this point.”

Illya hummed, displeased, but continued. He lathered the soap, starting to brush it on Gaby’s skin again.

“This is quite relaxing,” Gaby muttered after watching his work for a while. Illya looked focused, only hummed as an answer, didn’t pause or look up. “Can I hire you to do this regularly?” Gaby inquired.

“No,” Illya mumbled. He wiped the blade on the towel. Carefully he bent Gaby’s ankle and she helped with that by keeping the position. They were working together.

“Does that mean you would do it free?” Gaby asked, slightly grinning. 

Illya gave her a quick look. “No,” he said shortly.

“Too bad,” Gaby muttered, smile in her voice. She looked Illya’s meticulous strokes. “You missed a spot,” she said softly, pointing to the other side of her shin, the side Illya couldn’t properly see from where he was.

He glanced at her to see was she just teasing and only then craned his neck to see her leg. He shaved quickly over the thin slice of foam still there, looking so concentrated that Gaby had to smile.

“You are quite good at this,” she praised. “You sure this is the first time you’re doing this to someone?”

“I’m sure I would remember if it wasn't,” Illya assured, almost smiling, too.

Gaby moved the already shaved leg from the cool tiles, raised it to nudge his shoulder with her toes.

“Stop,” Illya said, but his voice was too soft to be ordering. “You want me to slice your leg off accidentally?”

“You wouldn’t,” Gaby muttered. Her dimples appeared when she gave him a mischievous little smile. “You are too careful for that.” She relaxed her leg when Illya moved it and then held it still when he continued shaving.

Illya didn’t say anything. The razor slid smoothly over her calf, Gaby worked with him and let him twist her leg and then hold it in its place. It was easy when she tensed up the right muscles as he went on. His thumb moved on her ankle. Obediently Gaby bent her knee slightly so that he could finish. There was no real need to guide her from her ankle, but Illya didn’t want to let go just yet.

The last of the foam disappeared. Illya wiped the razor before rubbing her leg with the towel. He gave her leg one last caress, cupping her calf with his palm and smoothing along it, completely unnecessarily. “Smooth,” he said.

“This was very helpful,” Gaby said, trying not to smile even when the corners of her mouth were twitching up. “Slow, but helpful.” She leaned forward to touch her legs, giving Illya a shrug and a face like she wasn’t that sure was she pleased with the results. Illya shook his head but she could see he found it amusing. “I know you said you wouldn’t do this again, but I don’t think I’m going bother myself any more,” Gaby claimed. “Not now when I know I can get someone else to do it for me.”

“No,” Illya said and started to get up from the stool.

“Maybe once a month at least,” Gaby suggested, smiling. “Four times a year?” she continued when Illya’s didn't reply. “Every six months?”

He tried to stay serious, but Gaby’s coaxing made it hard. Instead he tried to focus on putting his things away.

“Birthday?” Gaby carried on. She got up, leaned against the sink and was in Illya’s way. “Christmas? New Year? It could be like a present.”

Finally he huffed, trying to sound as frustrated as he could, but couldn't hide that he found Gaby’s coaxing funny. “Pick one.”

Gaby pursed her lips. “Birthday,” she decided.

“Fine,” Illya agreed. “Birthday. And only then.” He grabbed Gaby’s bulky chair and carried it out, much more easily than Gaby had dragged it in. She followed him, bare feet quiet against the floors. Illya took the paper he had been reading before they had started and settled back down to the couch.

Gaby leaned against the side table, smiling to herself. “I can barely wait for to weeks to do this again.”

Illya’s looked at her over the paper. “Your birthday is in September,” he reminded. “In two weeks is my birth-” he never finished his sentence before closing his mouth, looking displeased, but not sure was he feeling like it.

“I never said my birthday,” Gaby pointed out. “Just a birthday.” Her mischievous dimples were on her cheeks again when she pushed herself free from the table.

“Is this supposed to be a gift for me?” Illya asked when Gaby was already walking away. He wanted to be annoyed, but found it hard.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you that soap too,” Gaby promised.


End file.
